A Weekend In Paris
by SourCherryJuice
Summary: The weekend had been heavenly, but when all is said and done, Arthur is faced with quite the dilemma... FrUK, human names used.


The weekend had been heavenly.

It had taken Arthur nearly a fortnight to convince his boss to give him this single weekend away from work. He hadn t even been granted the entire weekend, just Saturday night through Sunday evening, when he was expected to return to work. All that effort, however, was worth it, even for such a short amount of time. He had arrived via jet in Paris to find Francis waiting for him, a bouquet of exquisite crimson roses in hand.

Kisses were exchanged, and the two were soon on their way. The couple had enjoyed a fantastic dinner at Le Meurice, strolled along the Champs- lys es and even watched a firework display explode into a million colors behind the Eiffel Tower. To say the night was perfect would have been an understatement, to say the least, but it only got better when the two retreated to Francis' chic flat, losing themselves in each other until the wee hours of the morning.

When the two eventually rose, Arthur was rather sore, but content. The smell, he imagined, was what awoke him. Francis had prepared breakfast, brunch, really, considering the time, not in the kitchen, but at the table on the little balcony, in the warmth of early August. They watched the shadows of clouds drift lazily over Paris, chairs placed close together, hands linked.

All was peaceful, quiet, even with the hustle and bustle going on all around them. That is, until Francis spoke: "You should consider staying here, cher."

Arthur pulled his hand back a bit at that, though Francis dutifully kept him attached. "You know I can't do that."

"And your reasoning?" Francis was staring at him with one perfectly groomed brow raised, those stunning cerulean eyes boring into his soul. "What reason have you for staying in London any longer?" He squeezed Arthur's hand. "Your job? Your home? Your life?" He scoffed softly. "I could give you so much more than you have there." The grip on Arthur s hand tightened again. I could give you more than Alfred could ever imagine.

"Don't be stupid." Arthur's voice was too soft; it was unnerving to hear himself sounding like that. He leaned in for a brief, soft kiss before he stood, pulling his hand away from the other man. "I have a flight to catch soon," he said, quickly heading back into the flat, hoping the seclusion, no matter how momentary, would help to clear his head.

Francis followed soon after, though he said nothing as he brought their used dishes in, or as he washed them. He even remained silent as Arthur placed his packed suitcase beside the door.

"I'd better get going," the Englishman announced, shuffling his feet awkwardly, a sorrowful, expectant look on his face as Francis dried his hands.

"Would you like me to escort you?" Francis asked, unable to hide his amused little smirk, despite his annoyance at the whole situation.

Arthur nodded his head, picking his luggage up once again. "I'd like that," he replied, sounding a bit too stuffy.

Francis took his hand as they headed out into the city once more.

The taxi ride was entirely too short, though, and the two were forced to sit together as Arthur anxiously awaited the arrival of the plane bound to return him to London, to the flat he had shared with Alfred for the past few years. The plane wasn't set to arrive for another forty-five minutes, and what with delays, he feared that they would be trapped in the crowded airport until lunchtime.

"Perhaps we should come back later," Francis said rather absentmindedly, his thumb stroking idly across the back of Arthur's hand.

The Englishman gave a curt shake of his head. "I have my luggage with me," he said, hauling his companion over to the waiting area, sitting them down not too far from the gates. He glared at the board displaying the flight times. "Bloody flights, always late..."

Francis chuckled a bit, though that only resulted in that pretty green glare focusing on him instead. "What's your hurry, cher?" The Frenchman rested his hand on his partner's knee and, oddly enough, there was nothing sexual to that gesture. "Are you that desperate to get away from me?"

Arthur, however, said nothing; no snarky comeback, no sarcastic comment, nothing. Francis couldn't help but find that a bit disheartening. Instead of giving a clear answer, the Brit just stared down at their linked hands, his thick brows furrowed in what appeared to be deep thought.

This went on for most of the next half-hour, with Arthur occasionally looking up to meet Francis' eyes, albeit only momentarily.

"Flight 320 from Berlin arriving," a woman's voice announced over the airport's P.A. system, and Arthur was suddenly snapped out of his reverie and back into the real world.

"The plane's here," he said, though by the softness of his tone, Francis assumed that he was only talking to himself.

The Frenchman sighed a bit dramatically, though the emotion behind it was rather intense. "So anxious to leave me."

Arthur's response was all too familiar: "Don't be stupid."

Another sigh escaped the Frenchman's lips, his free hand rising to stroke Arthur s cheek, though the Englishman pulled away almost instantaneously. "You're looking a bit guilty, cher."

"Can't be helped," came Arthur's terse reply, his glare on the gate he'll be entering momentarily.

"Go home to Alfred," Francis said, leaning in to steal a final, surprisingly chaste kiss before he stood "Just remember, I can give you more than he ever could." His eyes locked onto Arthur's. "I'll wait for you here."

Those words nearly broke Arthur's heart, because he knew that they were all true. Francis could easily give him, at a moment's notice, twice as much as Alfred had during the entire length of their relationship. And on top of that, as much of a flirt as the Frenchman may have been, Arthur knew full-well that Francis would wait for him. He was a true romantic, after all.

But to so callously abandon Alfred... It didn t sit well with Arthur's stomach, to say the least.

What with the plane preparing to board passengers, though, it seemed a snap judgment was to be made...

Arthur stood as well, leaning up to capture the Frenchman's lips, curling his fingers into fine golden locks, his luggage forgotten beside them.

Francis allowed his hands to slither down Arthur's side, coming to rest on the smaller man's hips. "Is that a yes?" he asked once the younger man released his mouth.

Arthur leaned in to press his lips to the Frenchman's ear, his answer coming out as a whisper.

Francis smiled.


End file.
